


A Mug Full of Love

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras attempts to make hot chocolate. Grantaire is horrified at his efforts and shows him how it's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mug Full of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merelydovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/gifts).



> For [Starfieldcanvas](http://starfieldcanvas.tumblr.com) who asked for: 
> 
> Enjolras makes really crappy hot chocolate with just mix and hot water from the sink. Grantaire is over working on designing flyers or whatever and witnesses this for the first time. Being rather a hedonist himself, he declares this asceticism will not stand goes all out heating milk and melting chocolate and adding whatever to the concoction and just generally blowing Enjolras' mind with the resulting drink.

“You’re late,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire blinked at him from the doorway. His face was ruddy from the elements. His scarf and jacket still had a few stubborn snowflakes clinging to them. His hat was dripping wet, from the snow that was already melting from the apartment building’s heat.

“You do realize I’m here doing you a _favor_ ,” Grantaire snapped, shoving his way into the apartment.

Enjolras quickly shut the door to keep the heat in. “And do you realize that if you insist on coming out in the middle of a blizzard and are over an hour late, I’m going to worry, right?” he exhaled, forcing himself to calm down. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire said, looking surprised. “I didn’t think you’d notice I was that late.”

“Of course I noticed. Now, come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Grantaire smirked at him, breaking the heavy mood that had threatened to settle over them. “Wow. I’m here for barely thirty seconds, and you’re already trying to get me to take my clothes off.”

Enjolras barely managed to fight off the blush that was threatening to bloom over his cheeks. He hadn’t meant it like that, but now that Grantaire put the mental image in his head, it was hard to ignore. A naked Grantaire was a distracting Grantaire and _oh shit_ , he should not be thinking about his friend this way.

“If you want to stay in your cold, wet clothes, be my guest. If not, I can lend you something.” He was very proud of how even he kept his voice.

He marched into his bedroom, half expecting Grantaire to make some kind of quip about it, but instead, Grantaire hovered awkwardly in the doorway as Enjolras fished around for a pair of pajama pants, a T-shirt, and some socks.

“Thank you,” Grantaire mumbled as Enjolras handed him the fresh clothes.

“Like you said, you’re doing me a favor,” Enjolras said, smiling at him. “When you’ve changed, we can put your clothes in the dryer so you don’t have to walk home in PJs.”

After Grantaire closed the door, Enjolras went into the kitchen, deciding a warm beverage would be nice for both of them to sip on. It was the least he could do, since Grantaire was giving up his Sunday morning to help Enjolras design some flyers for Les Amis.

He hadn’t expected Grantaire to agree so readily when he asked for his help. Grantaire wasn’t exactly the most supportive member of the group. But he had barely finished asking when Grantaire agreed to draw out some new designs. He was here in Enjolras’s apartment to show him the drafts so they could pick out the best ones and fine tune them. Of course, when Enjolras had seen the weather forecast the night before, he had suggested postponing their date. Well, not date. _Appointment_. But Grantaire insisted, and now here they were.

Enjolras hummed some tune he was pretty sure Courfeyrac had gotten stuck in his head as he emptied two packets of Swiss Miss into some mugs. He walked over to the sink, and waited for the water to get hot, then filled up the mugs.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

Enjolras turned, and had to try not to choke at the sight of Grantaire in his clothes. He wasn’t very successful, but luckily, Grantaire was too busy staring in horror at the cups to notice anything else.

“I made us hot chocolate,” Enjolras said. “Do you not like hot chocolate? I thought I’d seen you drinking it before, but I can make you tea or coffee instead.”

“I do like hot chocolate. But _that_ is not hot chocolate. _That_  is swill.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly gourmet, but I think you’re being a little overdramatic.”

“I’ll show you overdramatic.”

In two strides, Grantaire crossed the room, snatched the cups from Enjolras, and dumped their contents down the sink. Enjolras stared at him, appalled.

“That is so wasteful!”

“Well trying to pass off that concoction as hot chocolate is a crime against civilization!”

“I would have drunk it if you didn’t want it.”

“No.” Grantaire said firmly. “As the group’s connoisseur of all things pleasurable, I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“You mean as the resident hedonist?” Enjolras said, fighting off another blush at the inappropriate thoughts “connoisseur of all things pleasurable” brought up.

“If you prefer that.” Grantaire said, shrugging. “Now I am going to show you the light. Proper hot chocolate.”

“Do you want help?”

Grantaire burst into laughter. “Absolutely not. You just sit there and keep me company.”

Enjolras scowled, but sat at the breakfast bar as Grantaire indicated. “The laughter was unnecessary.”

“Do you not recall the incident when you _melted_ a frying pan?”

“I maintain that was a joint effort between myself and Bossuet.”

“Call it what you want, but his, Joly and Musichetta’s apartment still smells funky. Now where does Courfeyrac keep the pots?”

“Bottom left.”

This time, Enjolras didn’t even bother pretending to be offended at assumption he didn’t cook in his own apartment. He and Combeferre’s kitchen would have collected dust, except Courfeyrac complained that his apartment’s kitchen was too small, so he constantly invited himself over and cooked for them. They certainly weren’t complaining.

Grantaire rummaged through the cabinets until he found some cocoa powder, dark chocolate chips, vanilla extract, and cinnamon. He opened the fridge, and pulled out butter and milk (though not before peering suspiciously at the expiration date).

“Do you really have so little faith in us that you think we’d keep expired milk?”

“Yes. You, because you wouldn’t notice. And Combeferre because he’d be conducting some kind of science experiment.”

“That was one time.”

“One time is still too many times,” Grantaire muttered as he dumped the chocolate chips and butter in the pan.

Enjolras didn’t have a retort for that, so instead he asked, “Shouldn’t you turn the heat up?”

“If I did that, the chocolate would burn.”

They sat in silence for about thirty more seconds before Enjolras started strumming his fingers on the counter. He lasted about ten seconds after that before saying, “My way was faster.”

“Your way is garbage.” Grantaire stirred the pot, and Enjolras could see the chocolate was at least starting to melt.

He would protest, except Grantaire sounded almost _fond_ when he said it. That was probably just Enjolras projecting, but still, it stopped him from retorting. This was nice, just the two of them, sitting and not bickering, and he didn’t want to be the first to break the mood. So instead he sat quietly, watching Grantaire whisk in the milk. (Enjolras hadn’t been aware that they owned a whisk).

“To make sure it’s smooth,” Grantaire said, mistaking Enjolras contently watching him whisk as scrutiny.

Enjolras hummed his acknowledgment as Grantaire added a few spoonfuls of cocoa powder, and dash of vanilla extract. When it looked well-mixed to Enjolras’s untrained eye, he stood up.

“What are you doing?” Grantaire protested.

“Getting mugs. Am I at least allowed to do that?”

“Maybe,” Grantaire said, a teasing smile playing around his lips. “But only because I’m here to supervise you.”

Even though Enjolras rolled his eyes, he couldn’t actually bring himself to feel annoyed. He squeezed past Grantaire, and reached into the cabinet. He and Combeferre had a truly absurd amount of mugs in their apartment, which was mostly Combeferre’s doing. So it took Enjolras no time at all to find two oversized mugs and plunk them down on the counter.

Grantaire was back in the fridge, rummaging around. “Do you not have whipping cream?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Why would you think we have whipping cream just lying around? Do you know who we are? Have you met us?”

“I thought Courfeyrac might have brought some over. Or that you might at least have the canned kind.”

“We might have some Cool Whip in the freezer,” Enjolras shrugged.

Grantaire shuddered. “Don’t tell me that.”

He looked put out, so Enjolras felt the need to ask. “Is it important?”

“It’s the finishing touch. Whipped cream and cinnamon on top.”

Enjolras shrugged. “We can do without it.”

“Of course we can ‘do without it’. But I wanted to make you the best cup of cocoa you’ve ever had in your life, and now it’s just regular cocoa.”

Enjolras had to laugh at that. “Grantaire, I was fine with powdered cocoa made with hot sink water. I’m sure this will blow my mind.”

“I just…you deserve the best,” Grantaire said, running a hand through his hair distractedly. He seemed genuinely upset that he didn’t have any whipped cream to put on top. “Maybe the corner store has some.”

This was too much. “Are you forgetting the blizzard?”

“It’s probably flurries at this point.”

Enjolras stared pointedly out the window, where it was very clearly _not_ just flurries. Then he nudged the cups towards Grantaire. “Are you going to let our cocoa get cold? Because it smells amazing, cream or no.”

Grantaire accepted the cup, and thankfully seemed to give up his plan to venture outside.

“I think we have some marshmallows, if that would help.”

“How old are the marshmallows?” Grantaire asked suspiciously.

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought,” Grantaire said, shaking his head. He carefully poured the hot chocolate into the two mugs, then sprinkled some cinnamon on top.

“Come on,” Enjolras said, tugging Grantaire’s arm. They could sit at the breakfast bar, but that felt too stiff, too formal. So instead, he dragged Grantaire over to the loveseat. He chose it because it was the only seat in the living room facing the window, and what was more relaxing than watching snow fall from a warm apartment while sipping hot cocoa. And if the small size of the seat meant he was pressed right up against Grantaire, well, that was just a consequence he was going to have to live with.

“Well?” Grantaire asked expectantly.

Enjolras detected a small hint of nervousness in the question, so he raised the cup to his lips, blew gently, then took a sip. He let out an involuntary moan, much to his embarrassment, and Grantaire’s delight.

“It’s good,” he said, once he recovered a bit.

Grantaire clutched his heart. “Just good?”

“Amazing, really. Although I should be mad at you, because now I can never go back to the powdered stuff.”

“What did I tell you?” Grantaire said smirking. “I told you this was way better.”

“Yes, yes, you were right.  But stop being smug for a second, because I have a problem.”

“And what is that?” Grantaire said, finally taking a drink from his own mug.

“Like I said, I can’t go back to the powdered stuff. But I don’t trust myself in the kitchen without supervision.”

“Nor should you,” Grantaire said. “So what are we going to do with you?”

“Well,” Enjolras said, taking what he hoped was a nonchalant sip. “I guess this just means we’ll have to spend more time together. But me just making you make hot chocolate seems really unfair unless I repay you with maybe dinner or something.”

Grantaire sputtered and choked on his drink. Enjolras waited patiently as Grantaire tried to compose himself.

“The drink was really hot,” he explained weakly, turning bright red.

“I think that’s why they call it _hot_ chocolate,” Enjolras said mildly.

“So when you said take me out to dinner,” Grantaire said, apparently not having heard Enjolras. “Did you mean, like a date?”

Enjolras turned to look at him as best he could on the loveseat. “If you want,” he said seriously.

“I want, I definitely want,” Grantaire said. He paused. “Is this just because I made you cocoa? Because I know it’s _good_ , but I don’t know if it’s good enough to warrant a date.”

“It’s because I like you, you ridiculous man.”

“Oh man,” Grantaire said. “I’m going to make you so much cocoa. And next time, we’ll have whipped cream and everything. I fully intend to spoil you, you know.”

Enjolras laughed. “You really are ridiculous.”

“I am. And you like me,” Grantaire said, smiling.

He had a point. “I guess I’m ridiculous too,” Enjolras said.

They stayed on the couch long after they finished their cocoa. Grantaire offered to make more, but Enjolras insisted that snuggling was more important. A second cup could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working my way through my winter fic giveaway...like a month and a half later. Sorry for the delay. Hope you enjoyed the fluff. 
> 
> Because I am a serious author, I of course tested out multiple hot chocolate recipes, and can say with authority that I think the simpler recipes were the best. The recipe Grantaire made is the a variation on the recipes I liked the best. (And this is controversial- but whipped cream with some cinnamon sprinkled on top > marshmallows. There. I said it). 
> 
> (I'm [here](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com))


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